


Dusk Revelations

by genmitsu



Series: Imagination Infection [7]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-23 01:45:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15595497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genmitsu/pseuds/genmitsu
Summary: Something is shifting here, slowly but surely.---Oswald’s days were so much simpler before. Take care of his empire, fight for it tooth and nail, outdo the competition and outwit the cops. Simple. Easy.The feelings don’t blend into this mix well at all.





	Dusk Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a bit of a mess, but I do hope you will enjoy it :)

 

 

Oswald’s days were so much simpler before. Take care of his empire, fight for it tooth and nail, outdo the competition and outwit the cops. Simple. Easy.

The feelings don’t blend into this mix well at all.

The attempt to rid himself of Jim and the inexplicable hold he has on him fell through, a moment of weakness that now makes Oswald almost ashamed of it. And really, did he want it to be like that? Oswald knows what sex is and what it means - absolutely nothing but the things you yourself attribute to it, yet he can’t help but romanticize the idea of being so completely intimate with another person, a person he likes… loves. To objectify himself and reduce his feelings to mere animal wants - that wouldn’t have been good for him at all.

And Jim. Oswald knew he was a contradiction, but he also had to admire him for withstanding temptation even in the situation where it was so painfully clear Jim wasn’t thinking with his head. Now it brings them to this incomprehensible something that neither knows how to maneuver, this dancing in the dark, where feelings are heightened and laid bare. Jim doesn’t pursue him, in any sense, but does it mean he’s unwilling to, or that he’s giving Oswald the control over how it would progress, the initiative? Oswald, instead, is filled with doubts.

If he treats Jim like he would any other challenge, a business one, he would approach him and make him reveal his intentions, bend him to his will either through deals, threats, or subterfuge. But Jim is not business, moreover, Oswald never risked himself that way for business - sure, he puts his life on the line enough times, but this is not about his life. It’s about his heart and soul, concepts much more vulnerable to the little things.

Like the way Jim touched him, for instance. Not like he did before, not angry or intent on scaring him off. He touched Oswald as if he couldn’t bear not to, as if he was something worth fighting for if someone else tried to take him away. Oswald’s body is so unfamiliar with this kind of touch he can’t help but obsess over it, recalling every tiny detail. He fantasizes about the way it could progress if Jim didn’t stop himself, or if he never stated it would be a one-time thing. And before Oswald would’ve imagined Jim being rough with him, wanting to satiate his hunger with Oswald above anything else, but now he too knows better.

Jim would be careful with him, maybe even gentle. Jim would be passionate, as ever, but he would be focused on Oswald and his cues, giving them a completely different sort of closeness and intimacy, uniting them much more than simply joining their bodies could.

Oswald wants it so badly he could weep.

Drink only dulls it a little, and work is steady now with the Capos brought to heel once again, so there’s very little distraction from thoughts like these that keep resurfacing in his mind. He is almost paralysed with indecisiveness, so uncharacteristic for him, especially when he has a very clear idea of how to push Jim’s buttons to aim him in the right direction, but now, with their feelings bare, Oswald is stalled. This is not something he wants to manipulate or orchestrate, forever drowning himself in doubts. He wants this to become real because Jim would decide he is worth it, worth the extra mile, worth the effort. Because Jim would choose him on his own.

This thinking of Jim is getting ridiculous, really, Oswald laughs a little when the man he sees out of the window suddenly looks so much like the detective. Seeing things now - that couldn’t be good. Except…

Oswald squints, trying to get a better look. Oh. It _is_ Jim. It’s Jim, in the flesh, coming closer and closer to his door, carrying… flowers? Oswald catches his breath involuntarily, watching him from the window, conveniently concealed by the drapes. Jim’s steps grow slower as he approaches, until he comes to a halt a few feet away from the front door. He stands still, his face conflicted, and he makes one more step and halts again.

Despite everything, Oswald can’t help but take in his looks, hungry for his appearance as never before. Jim looks… tired and worn out, his blond hair ruffled as if he’s been in a fight, his clothes, never exactly crisp, messy. Just what has he been dealing with? Oswald looks at him, his heart going out to Jim at once as sure as a guided missile, hurting in his chest.

Jim stands in front of his door for a long time, not moving, his expression changing slightly with the turmoil he’s going through, but in the end he sighs, his shoulder sagging in defeat, and he takes the last few steps to the front door. Oswald doesn’t breathe, and he’s not exactly waiting for that doorbell to ring, not with Jim like that, but he’s also hoping - for something he can’t quite explain to himself. There is no ring, and Jim walks away from his front door slowly, and he even turns to look at the house again, prompting Oswald to duck behind the drapes again, before he straightens his back and resumes his walk with a more determined pace. He’s not carrying anything anymore.

Oswald’s heart is thumping madly in his chest as he slowly walks downstairs. His staff is busy in other parts of the house, so he’s all alone when he opens that front door and sees a small bouquet lying on the porch. Roses. Not red, not the kind he would’ve expected from someone like Jim, but purple, a deep rich colour he has hardly ever seen. There is no note, not a thing to indicate the sender, and what is this, what is Jim thinking? Does he want to mess with Oswald? But the way he looked… it doesn’t ring true in Oswald’s mind. Jim is sincere, but he’s being so unbearably difficult about it and, really, Oswald should just toss this bouquet aside. He’s still angry with him! He still is.

Instead, Oswald steals back into his room and puts the bouquet into a vase, carefully and gently. The roses have a heady scent, their large petals delicate and velvety. It’s also a gift he has never received before, and it’s stirring up so many emotions in him.

All through the day he can’t help but glance at the flowers every once in a while, still so pretty. And he is almost certain Jim only chose them for their colour, not their meaning, which he himself had to look up, because really, who knows all of that except florists? True, the red roses are the most well-known symbol of love, but these… Oswald finds out that they represent “royalty and majestic elegance” and he loves them all the more for that. Would Jim think that of him if he knew their meaning? They also stand for “deep love”, and - would Jim choose them if he knew _that?_ Oswald wants to talk to him, ask him all of that, but… He also wants to know what Jim would do without pushing him.

The roses keep coming for a couple more weeks. The amount of flowers varies, probably depending on the thickness of Jim’s wallet, but the kind remains the same, and there’s still no card or note on any of the bouquets. Sometimes Oswald wears one of the flowers on his lapel, imagining the look on Jim’s face if he saw him like that. But Jim doesn’t attempt to contact him in any other way. According to Oswald’s information network, Jim is working a serial murder case, but it also seems like there’s more. The information flow is a lot more stilted after Arkham, too many of his spies defected to the Capos’ side, quite unreasonably, or ended up dead. A loss, truly, that Oswald tries to make up for, but the process is not quick.

Then comes the evening when Jim finally rings his doorbell and Oswald, being on his way down to the kitchen, opens the door. Jim is standing right there on the porch, a bit rumpled, a bit agitated, and he looks at Oswald as if he wants to devour him on the spot, and they stand like that, both arrested by each other’s sight, until Oswald manages to collect himself.

“Good evening, Jim,” he says, his voice sounding softer than he would have preferred.

“Oswald,” Jim replies with some difficulty. “Good evening.”

There’s a pause then, and Oswald’s thoughts rush through his mind, stumbling over each other - should he welcome him in? should he behave cold, still? thank him for the flowers or ask what he’s doing here? but God, Jim is here right now, and he missed him so much, too much and...

“Oswald,” Jim interrupts the silence, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you to come with me for a ride. It will take the whole of tomorrow too, and we have to leave now.”

Oswald is taken aback and finds himself blinking at Jim, lost for words for a second. “Can you tell me what this is about, Jim?”

“Not here,” Jim says, looking over his shoulder, then back at Oswald again. “I promise that you won’t regret it. I also promise you would come to no harm. And you can ignore me or whatever, hell, you can do whatever you want, but please come with me.”

There’s something about Jim that is definitely on edge, keyed up for all the wrong reasons, and his eyes are insistent and dark and Oswald could never resist him.

“Alright,” he nods. “Let me leave some instructions…”

“No,” Jim catches him, placing his hand on Oswald’s shoulder. “No one can know.”

Jim’s touch completely short-circuits his brain and Oswald just nods once again, as if hypnotized, stepping out onto the porch towards him. Jim drops his hand from his shoulder but it ghosts over the small of Oswald’s back as they walk towards Jim’s car, as if he doesn’t know if he’s allowed this touch but can’t help himself anyway. Oswald’s skin tingles through this contact that isn’t close enough, he mostly feels the heat of Jim’s hand through his clothes more than he does actual touch, and it’s so strange, so weird, and entirely not enough.

Jim sits him in his car and closes the door after him before climbing into the driver’s seat. He glances around and starts driving, the car basically sneaking onto the road with the way they move, no lights or anything that could make a louder noise. It’s only when they hit the main street does Jim turn the headlights on and drive faster. They’re soon on the interstate, heading north, and Jim is still so tense and checking the rear-view mirror too often for usual driving. Oswald looks behind them but he doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary in the city, and when they’re out, they’re practically alone on the road, and Jim relaxes a bit.

Oswald looks at Jim, his profile softened by shadows, his hands steady on the steering wheel, and just being here with him, in this space, is doing something peculiar to Oswald. He is tense and his heart is hurting in Jim’s proximity again, but at the same time he breathes easier and there’s this tingling warmth all over his skin, and he doesn’t feel cold at all in the chilly night despite him not taking his coat or even his suit jacket with him.

“Where are we going, Jim?” he asks at last, his voice sounding small and he frowns at himself for this.

“Out of Gotham. There’s something I want you to see.”

“You still can’t tell me what this is about, can you?”

Jim shakes his head. “Please trust me on this one.”

Oswald shifts in his seat slightly, discomfited by the utter lack of doubt he has in Jim when he really shouldn’t believe him as easily as before.

“I’m terribly sorry, Jim, but do you have anything to drink here?” he asks after a while, looking about the car. “You stole me away right as I was going to make myself tea and I am a little parched, to be honest.”

“Oh,” Jim says, and finally glances at Oswald, but turns his attention to the road immediately. “I don’t think there’s anything… I’ll stop at the nearest gas station, alright?”

“Sure,” Oswald nods.

The dryness in his throat is starting to bother him soon, regardless of the promise, and he swallows several times, but it doesn’t help. He coughs a little, and Jim glances at him again in concern, picking up speed. The gas station appears in front of them several minutes later and Jim parks the car where it doesn’t get into the light too much.

“I’ll just be a minute, okay?” he says and walks inside the station’s shop.

Oswald sits, waiting, but he’s suddenly restless and uneasy, so he exits the car as well and leans against it, taking deep breaths. It’s well into the night, the air is considerably more chilly, and it’s so dark around here. He’s never really noticed before, Gotham being dark enough, but it was never as pitch black as the outdoors. Oswald feels even more uneasy, his senses heightening, but then Jim walks back to him, carrying two cups.

“Got you some tea,” he says, handing the cup to Oswald carefully.

The first sip is almost scalding, but Oswald is happy nonetheless, since it’s finally calming down his parched throat, and also Jim joins him, leaning against the car next to him with his own drink. Oswald feels the tension ease up in him when Jim is close, and it seems like his own reactions to this man have become as contradictory as Jim is.

“Thank you,” Oswald says after a couple more sips. Jim hums in response. It’s strangely comfortable out here with him, in the middle of nowhere, with the lights from the gas station in their peripheral vision delicately distinguishing them both from the inky darkness and the stars twinkling above them. He hardly ever notices stars in Gotham, they’re always obscured by the clouds or drowned out by city lights. The wind is much stronger out here too and, despite his hot drink, Oswald begins to shiver.

“Come here,” Jim says, as he puts his cup on the roof of the car and shrugs out of his coat, draping it over Oswald’s shoulders. He’s so close to him and Oswald’s heart starts beating in his chest so hard he is sure Jim can hear it. He gazes up at Jim, at his face so close, at his eyes looking at him with strange gentleness, and he wants nothing more than to kiss him right there and then. But… it’s not as simple as that anymore, is it?

“Thank you,” Oswald says once again, softly. “For the roses too.”

Jim shifts in his spot, and is he blushing? It’s difficult to see in this darkness, but…

“I’m glad if you liked them,” he sounds almost shy.

“I’ve never received flowers before,” Oswald confides, looking down at his cup. “Did you… intend for them to mean something?” And he glances up at Jim through his eyelashes, suddenly bashful.

“I…” Jim gulps visibly, “I did.”

“What was it, Jim?” Oswald asks, his voice barely a whisper.

Jim stays silent, as if he’s unable to say, and when he finally takes in a breath and gains a determined gleam in his eyes, it’s Oswald who is afraid to hear it. He doesn’t trust himself in Jim’s presence, unwilling to betray himself once again even for him, but the probability of that is rising with every second.

“No,” he says abruptly, placing his fingers over Jim’s lips before the words spill out and can’t be taken back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t push you. And…” he inhales shakily, “I shouldn’t have been so angry with you for getting cold feet.”

“Oswald,” Jim breathes, and he has to pull his fingers back because Jim’s lips are warm and soft and the way he said his name felt like a kiss, and-- Jim catches his hand. “I love it when you push me. I want you to.”

Jim tentatively pulls the cup from Oswald’s fingers and places it on the roof beside his. His hand slides over Oswald’s cheek on the way back, gently, so gently.

“Say it, Oswald,” Jim utters in a low voice, raw with undercurrent tension. “Please.”

The little word undoes him.

“Kiss me, Jim,” he says, and his hand is pulled forward, and Jim’s is cupping his cheek, and those blue eyes are coming closer, soft and irresistible, and then there’s nothing but the heat of Jim’s mouth on his as they finally meld together.

Oswald can’t hold back a tiny moan as Jim’s lips move over his, as his head is tilted back and his knees buckle. Jim’s arm circles his waist, pressing him closer, Oswald’s hands fly to Jim’s hair, burying themselves in the smooth silky locks, surprisingly soft, yet the body against his is all rigid muscle and thumping heartbeat. Oswald can’t tell where his ends and Jim’s begins, a perfect resonance between them, and it’s drowning everything else out, all the doubts out of his mind, there’s only craving for more of Jim and the desire that Jim’s lips would just never stop kissing his.

Oswald feels like his spine just turned to jelly when they do stop for breath, and he’s limp in Jim’s embrace except for the part of him that isn’t. He’s always been too easily turned-on by Jim, much to his embarrassment and irritation, but now they’re so close Jim will not be able to leave it unnoticed, either, and the fact that Oswald feels Jim be equally hot and aroused _right there against him_ is not helping his situation one bit. Jim presses them closer, the contact dragging out a moan out of the both of them, but then he distances himself with visible difficulty.

“I’d love to go on,” Jim says, his voice husky and low with want, “but we still have a long ride ahead.” He trails Oswald’s lips with his fingers, pressing at his lower one. “And I’d much rather take you apart in a bed, not on a roadside, unless…” Jim wets his lips and moves a fraction closer, “you want me to.”

Oswald shivers, Jim’s words are cocksure and smug, but his body language paints a different picture, and the thought that Jim truly surrenders all control over this to him is exhilarating and a high all on its own. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and stands straighter, facing Jim. Just how far can he push him?

“Let us be reasonable,” he says, and his voice is also lower than usual. Jim takes a step back, but his hands linger on Oswald’s waist anyway. “How long is this ride going to take?”

“About four hours more,” Jim replies, looking at him with yearning, and Oswald almost regrets having to hold him back just for this new powerplay of theirs.

“On our way, then,” he says regardless, and leans forward to plant another kiss on Jim’s lips, possessive, promising. “But don’t think for a minute I will not hold you to your word.”

Jim groans softly and finally lets Oswald go, reluctant to the last. He hands him his drink back and takes his own, downing it in one big gulp and crumpling the cup in his hand, fighting for his composure, no doubt. His gaze trails Oswald up and down, and then he sighs.

“Take the backseat, you can sleep there,” Jim says, opening the door for him.

“Thank you. I believe I shall,” and Oswald sits inside, pulling Jim’s coat tighter around himself and trying his very best to think of something especially distanced from arousal, like dead animals or the coldness of Gotham River. He’s too enveloped in Jim’s scent for it to work quickly, but the tea, now cold too, is helping with distraction. He dozes off eventually, slouched in the seat and watching Jim drive.

He wakes up again when the car pulls into the driveway by a small house and Jim stops the engine. Oswald looks around groggily, not recognising anything, and then Jim opens the door and offers him his hand. Oswald takes it gratefully, a little sluggish, a little unsure on his feet, and he stumbles into Jim and his warmth once again. Jim holds him, his hands sure and gentle, and it feels like a continuation of an especially sweet dream.

“Let’s go in,” he says to Oswald with a soft smile. “But quietly. They’re already sleeping.”

Oswald follows Jim inside, holding his hand, thoroughly puzzled. Sleeping? Whom does he mean?

 

Jim half-expects it, but he is still taken aback by the sheer force of Oswald’s grip on his hand as he sees the sleeping kid’s curly head.

“Martin,” Oswald says softly, disbelief and shock lacing his voice, and he looks at Jim then, and Jim drowns in his eyes.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So. The roses. I'm not sure if any of you heard of "Glass Mask" manga, but the idea of a purple rose with a loaded meaning comes from there. Also, what other colour could Jim get for Oswald anyway? It can only be this one.  
> Jim sent him bouquets of Ebb Tide roses, they look like [this](https://i.imgur.com/4K3B7J2.jpg). Or [this](https://i.imgur.com/KFRSCMP.jpg). Pretty. :)


End file.
